






-^^0^ 





















<^- "** ,0^ ^'•4J%''^o. 



', ^ 



-^^0^ 



K^ 



Hq, 




^oV"^ 










^^-n^. 




v/^- l'^ 






(E^ : 





^° 


■''*•. 


s • 


nJ^N. 




^ 


^^ 


• -.^ •'.^ 


^ 




<^^ 


o • 


» • 


"^ ' • "^ 






•1- V. 


0^ 










s''^/. 






^ f-1 - tv. 










^- -^ 












^9 o ^5:^IIIII1W^3^ <- .^^v 








G^ ^ .7^^, . 



V - ^ '^ A^ -^ 



THE VOICE 
OF THE WILDFLOWERS 

A Fantasy 

BY 
MARIETTA MINNIGERODE ANDREWS 

AUTHOR OF 

The Cross Triumphant, a Pageant of the Church 
in England and America 

WRITTEN FOR THE BENEFIT OF 

THE WILDFLOWER PRESERVATION 
SOCIETY 



Dedicated to 
PAUL BARTSCH 



Copyright f <^ Ji^ 
Marietta Minnigerode Andreivs 



©CI.A683245 



SEP 16 1922 



C[l0mmittfr 



A 



^ J 4?^ ^ V Mrs. James Parmalee 



^^>*^ 



Mrs. Fairfax Harrison 
, h *. Mrs. E. H. Bouton 

'f 

Mrs. Louis Hertle 

Dr. Paul Bartsch 

Mr. Charles Moore 

Mr. J. H. Small 

Mr. Ben A. Harlan 

Organizer and Producer Bess Davis Schreiner 

Director of Rhythm Carolyn McKinley 

Soloist Estelle Wentworth 

Director of Music - . Paul Bleyden 

and 

The Voice of the Wildflowers, 

Miss Opal Whiteley, 

Author of "The Story of an Understanding Heart" 

r!^^ Produced in honor of the 

GARDEN CLUB OF AMERICA 

at the 

NATIONAL RED CROSS BUILDING 

Washington 

October 25, 1922 
3 



THE PASSERBY 

Oh ! dogwood blossom by the way, 

Flaunting on high 

Your snow-white, pure and spotless spray 

Against the sky — 

I leave you ! Other thoughtless hands 

May bruise and break — 

But m}'^ sad spirit understands 

The risk you take. 

Oh, violet and blue lupine! 

Bloom on in peace ! 

Scatter your seed in warm sunshine, 

Spend and increase ! 

I spare you ! Other reckless feet 

May tramp you down — 

Crush to the earth your life-blood sweet. 

Your seed unsown ! 

I thank you for the message sent, 

As on I speed. 

I thank you for the courage lent 

Me in my need. 

Through narrow street and sordid scene 

You play your part — 

Your color, perfume, living green, 

Stay in my heart ! 



STORY 

An outdoor setting with trees and shrubs as background and 
wings. Little gnomes in green. The first gnome peers anx- 
iously around and finding the coast clear beckons to his mates 
who play upon the lawn. All shrink back against the foliage 
as steps approach. Mortals pass, portraying the friendship of 
the flowers and their part in the joy, love, grief and faith of 
men. These having passed, the gnomes return, until the en- 
trance of The Voice of the Wildflowers. Then they again 
shrink from sight, returning timidly as her speech attracts 
them, as if in sympathy with her, seating themselves at her 
feet, listening. Having told of some of the gentle offices of 
the wildflowers, The Voice calls them forth that they may 
express in color, rhythm and music their joy at being thus 
brought into friendly touch with man. The flowers appear 
in successive groups, each group attired in the variations of 
a single color of the spectrum, until the seven groups have 
formed a living rainbow, semi-circular, opening toward the 
audience, and then the white flowers, who have been a chorus 
behind the scenes, appear and group themselves around The 
Voice. In more simple form this can be done by seven single 
figures, in violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange and red 
draperies. . 

When the rainbow group is complete, the lullaby music is 
heard, and the flowers becoming drowsy, turn and look once 
more into the face of her whose Voice has been loaned to 
them, and sink into sleep at her feet. 



PANTOMIME 

Showing that the flowers are dear to man in undiscrimi- 
nating childhood, in ardent love, in broken-hearted grief, and 
in triumphant faith. That infancy, youth, age, and eternity 
know and love the flowers. 

1. Lady walking in a garden, reading; her children come 
joyously to her, their hands full of flowers pulled up by the 
roots. The little happy group passes. 

2. A young lover, in picturescjue costume, breaks a red rose 
from a bush, and kneeling before his lady love, offers it to her. 
They pass. 

3. An older woman alone, in trailing black, gathers an arm- 
ful of white fl.owers, burying her face in them as she passes. 

4. A priest, with dangling crucifix, and breviary in his hand, 
passes thoughtful through the garden. A single lily attracts 
his attention. He tenderly takes it with him to the altar. 



THE VOICE 

I am The Voice of the Wildflowers. 

Once in many years they find a voice. 

Isaiah spoke for us — the roses of the wilderness. 

David spoke for us — the flowers of the grass. 

Jesus spoke for us — the lilies of the field. 

Wordsworth spoke for us — 

"Thanks to the human heart by which we live, 
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, its fears. 
For me the meanest flower that blows, can give 
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. 



I, too, who am today The Voice of the Wildflowers, have 
an understanding heart and am a child of Nature. When I 
shall have spoken to you for these my little sisters, I shall call 
them forth that they may dance for you in all their rainbow 
colors. 



To man, we, the wildflowers, are an evidence of divine gra- 
ciousness. 

We give him the inspiration of beauty ; 
The charm of color; 
The perfection of design ; 
The solace of fragrance ; 
The peacefulness of silence. 



From rocky crag and lonely moor we smile. 

Into ourselves we draw the poisonous breath of pestilential 
swamps. 

Our rootlets stay the onslaught of destroying floods. 

Our sunflowers, iron-weed and primroses stand sentinel to 
screen the unsightliness beyond your city confines. 

7 



Where man ignorantly forces nature into lines of harshness, 
we steal, and in a season have brought back the van- 
ished grace. 

Our myrtle and morning glories creep tenderly over your for- 
gotten and neglected graves. 



To our frightened small brothers in feathers and fur, we the 
wildflowers offer protection. 

What though our petals be bruised? The fireflies cradle them- 
selves in our hearts. 

W^hat though our branches be broken ? The wee rabbits hide 
in the briars of the rose. 

To the bees give we pollen, borne mysteriously afar that need- 
ful things may multiply. 

To the goldfinch the silvery silk of our seed, that her naked 
nestlings may find ease. 

The brown Anosia lays her eggs on the leaves of our milkweed 
and her caterpillar babies find in us their nursery, nurse 
and nourishment. 

To the very worms we give the fresh food of our foliage. 



m\ 



If now and then my little sisters wander even as your own 
children do, into places not for them, it is but love excessive. 
There are no misers among us. Should our poppies red and 
cornflowers blue mingle with your golden grain, be merciful ! 
Grant us still along your highways our ungrudged habitations, 
permit us to increase along the embankments of your railways, 
for the joy of the passerby! Spare us the burning torch, the 
glittering scythe, that lay us low! 

Into the air we will pour our sweetness ! 

Into ourselves, draw your destroying gasses ! 

We will give you still the symbol of the white flower of a 
stainless life! 

8 



In death and dissolution, we will enrich your soil ! 

In our certain resurrection, we will uphold your faith ! 



Pause 

The Voice : 

Come, my little sisters, gather that your graces may be 
known ; 

Come in all the rainbow colors Nature makes your very 
own ; 

I>et our stronger human brothers whose protecting care 
we need 

vSee we too are living creatures, root and stalk and flower 
and seed. 

Enter the violet: 

The violet, hepatica, 

The iris, aster, blazing-star. 

The thistle's silky, downy seed, 

The stately purple iron-weed, 

The generous wistaria 

The little violet sisters are. 

The Voice: 

Men have seen our hungry rootlets seeking nurture 'neath 
the sod. 

Have they seen our sleeping babies cradled snug within 
the pod? 

Enter the indigo : 

Come we who wear the indigo, 
That deepest blue the flowers know — 
The larkspur, with its gallant spear, 
The ragged-robin, ever dear, 
The fringed gentian, sisters mine. 
And from the deep woods, the lupine. 

9 



The Voice : 

In the meadow and the forest still the blue flower survives ; 
Now from highways and from byways come to plead for 
harmless lives ! 

Enter the blue : 

My bluest blue, the chicory, 
Makes summer roadsides fair to see; 
The Quaker-ladies, in the grass. 
Bow as the gentle breezes pass ; 
And hair-bells on the mountain side 
Deck grimmest bluffs with azure pride. 

The Voice : 

We are threatened with extinction ; fire and scythe and 

idle hand 
Mow the ferns down, waste their treasure, ravishing Ui 

from the land. 

Enter the green : 

The background of all life is green ; 
Our laurel leaves with glossy sheen. 
Our Christmas ferns that pierce the snow, 
Our brake, turned gold in August glow. 
And trailing smilax in the shade. 
And in the sun, each grassy blade. 

The Voice : 

If you break us, we are broken; if you bruise us, how wc 

bleed! 
If you waste our hard-bought blossom, can we yield you 

ripened seed? 

Enter the yellow: 

The "cowslip by the river's brim," 
The evening primrose, prim and slim, 
The sunflowers, all brave and bold, 

10 



The dandelion's coin of gold, 

Sprinkle the world as gifts from God^ 

And widespread fields of golden-rod. 

The Voice: 

Our ripened seeds are offering to the birds a gift of love, 
Which the birds return in service, sowing seed in field 
and grove. 

Enter the orange : 

The milk-weed's gorgeous flame is spread 

Where lazy Susan lifts her head ; 

The lemon lily, stately, tall — 

The trumpet vine on roof and wall — 

And all the flowers as you pass by, 

Wink at you with a golden eye. 

The Voice : 

Our myriad roots are holding back the fury of the flood; 
Our chalices are yielding bees and butterflies their food. 

£nter the red: 

To clothe the rocks the ferns entwine 
With drooping, dainty columbine; 
And in the cool, sequestered nooks 
Lobelia blooms beside the brooks ; 
While o'er the world, the poppies spread 
A coverlet of gold and red. 

The rainbow has now been formed thus : 
Violet indigo blue green yellow orange red 

Indigo blue green yellow orange red violet 

Blue green yellow orange red violet indigo (etc.) 

The Voice : 

In man's vandal hands a-dying faded flowers are little 

worth ; 
Let us live, that we may gladden the waste places of the 
. earth. 

11 



Enter the white : 

The pure white flowers now will speak, 

From edelweiss on mountain peak. 

To water lily's stainless grace, 

And dainty, dainty Queen Ann's lace; 

To yucca, growing strangely grand 

In vast, unwatered desert land — 

The yarrow and the marguerite. 

The dear blood-root beneath your feet — 

But oh — the Queen of flower-world. 

When her white petals are unfurled 

In vernal, virgin purity. 

The blossom of the dogwood tree ! 

(At the close of this song, in which the audience could join, 
the music carries on a lullaby, which shall be sung for or by 
The Voice.) 

The soft golden glow dies away in the West 
And every wee bird seeks its own cosy nest, f i ^ m 

And Earth's flower-children, on Earth's mother-breast 
Fall asleep. 

Oh, turn. Little Sisters, your faces to me ; 
This hour brings blessing to humanity. 
Your beds are all waiting, and soon you will be 
Fast asleep. 

My voice is faijing, sleep touches my eyes ; 

Like you — I — am — drifting — on — dear — lullabies — 

To the dim world — of dreams and of — far-away — skies — 
So goodnight ! 



12 



3477-53 







-^^0^ 



^ Z^^,^^^', ^ .^"^ /.c^i^. 



> /,r>m^;^ 



^ o 



'o y 









' <^. 












V -f 



.-^o^ 




^, 



<-i^ 



^ v^ :%:55^p> 







^ 



o 





vO 



<^. 



< > s • • , O <^ 



^^■n^. 






■S^ 



.-^^^ 







-Jv^ 




